What Happens In Vegas
by Northofsomewhere
Summary: Had to re-post due to website issues...Will what happened in Vegas to Spencer in Ashley stay in Vegas? Mini-story
1. 1 Saturday, 9:00 am

The faint melody of my cell phone ringing wakes me from a deep sleep. My mouth is so dry it's almost hard to breathe. Quickly, I open my eyes, and regret that decision as soon as the light of the room fill my pupils. I sweep the blonde hairs from my face so I can see where I am. As I take a cursory glance around, I realize that this is not the same room I checked in to yesterday. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's not even in the same hotel.

I don't remember much of anything from last night and I have no idea how I ended up in this bed. Thank you, vodka. In the distance, my cell phone is still ringing and I figure now would be a good time to silence it and maybe use it as a clue to piece together what happened last night.

The coldness of air conditioning in the room hits me as I remove my covers and I see that I'm completely naked. The stamp on my right hand reads TAO and there's a purple plastic wristband to match. At least now I know one place I was last night. On my left hand, there is a simple band on my ring finger. A wave of nausea hits me and I'm not sure if it's because I'm hungover or because I'm married. And I wasn't married twenty four hours ago. I wasn't even in a relationship twenty four hours ago.

I close my eyes and keep them closed for a second. I must still be asleep. Yes, this is a dream. A dream within a dream and in a second I will be back in my hotel with Chelsea's drunk ass snoring and stealing all the covers from me. Like a little kid, I open my eyes, expecting somehow to be somewhere else. Same room. Same hangover. Same wedding ring.

"What the hell did you do, Spencer?" I mumble to myself as I inspect the silver ring in more detail.

From the bathroom, I hear the shower running, which means I am clearly not alone. It also means, I need to figure out what happened as soon as possible. I nakedly stumble to my phone and turn off the alarm. It's only nine and I have at least ten texts and three missed calls. The three calls are from Chelsea and the messages are also mostly from her.

Chelsea 12:32 am: Where you at?

Chelsea 1:12 am: Madison is getting antsy…and wasted. We're thinking about heading to the Wynn to play some blackjack. Where are you?

I'm starting to sense a theme. I scroll to the final two messages.

Madison 5:06 am: Where are you?

Chelsea 5:27 am: Spence, you better be ok. Text me! I'm really worried about you.

Although I'm not sure how, I notice that my iphone is charging and I unplug it. I tap my response to them both: I'm alive, not sure where I am but I'll see you guys as soon as I get out of here.

If only I were Samuel L. Jackson, then maybe that useless bitch Siri who lives in my phone could give me an answer about what happened last night. Siri and I have a love/hate relationship. She loves misunderstand everything I ask her. I just hate her and her condescending robot voice.

There's a notepad that is labeled "Paris" and at least now I know where I am, even if I am most definitely not at Planet Hollywood, where I should be. There's also two half eaten, completely melted ice creams from the Sugar Factory. I hear the shower in the bathroom turn off and figure I only have a minute or two left if I plan to escape without having to come face to face with some stranger I apparently got hitched to last night. This escape plan would be easier and more likely if I could find my clothes.

There's a heap of clothes, which I rummage through and find a vest, a pink bra and matching thong and a skirt. Those are not my clothes and now I am really confused. There's no way I married a complete stranger. I am not the kind of girl who gets married to strangers in Las Vegas. The bathroom door opens and a gorgeous brunette clad only in a towel walks out.

She catches me holding the bra in my hand. Before I'm able to say something, anything, the brunette speaks up.

"You trying to steal my clothes, Spence?" she asks in a sing-song voice.

It's raspy and playful and enchanting and almost makes me forget I'm naked and married. ALMOST.

"Uh, um no," is the best response that comes out of my mouth.

I drop the pink bra onto the pile of clothes and rip the comforter from the bed to cover myself. This cannot be happening. This has to be a dream, I think to myself. It's all too hilariously improbable to be reality. Now that I'm covered, I take a second to look this girl over.

Her brown curls are still wet from her shower and clinging to her cheeks. She's still the owner of a set of famous brown eyes that take the breath from my lungs and cause my heart to speed up just a little to make up for it. I have to get my corneas checked because the girl I'm staring is a dead ringer for my ex-girlfriend from high school, Ashley Davies. In fact, the voice and the instant desire I feel around her makes me certain it's Ashley.

"Relax. It's not like I haven't seen you naked all night long," Ashley comments with a satisfied smirk I've seen a time or two before . "Not sure where this modesty came from, but it's still kinda cute. Not as cute as you naked, but still cute."

Then, she cracks this lopsided smile and the instant she does, I return it. It's indescribable the way I automatically react to her. My reaction, however uncontrollable, is also short lived.

She takes a step towards me and I panic.

"This has to be some kind of mistake," I ramble as the synapses in my brain are firing just telling me to take a step back. I do, and bump into the air conditioning unit. At my recoiling, I see a flash of hurt in her eyes and her smile fades.

"You don't remember last night, do you?" she asks with trepidation.

"Not much," I admit.

I'm a bit of a lightweight in the drinking department and I tend to forget a lot of things, usually embarrassing things that happen shortly after my third drink. As the shock of the situation fades, the memories are trying to break free. I need a second to process this, alone. Preferably without Ashley and that relentless gaze that makes it impossible for me to think about anything but her.

Fortunately, she grants me an easy escape from my lack of self control. She slinks down on the edge of the bed, with her back to me.

"Your clothes are in the bathroom," she quietly informs me.

"Thanks," I reply and make a beeline for the bathroom, dragging the comforter with me.

It only takes me a minute to get dressed. To calm my nerves and buy myself a few precious minutes of time, I wash my face, hoping that all of a sudden my selective amnesia will disappear. After I dry my face, I stare at my face in the mirror and force myself to think about anything I can remember. Only flashes of last night run through my mind. The club. A stolen kiss in the bathroom. A cab ride. The wedding chapel. Ashley.

It's not enough to piece together into anything coherent. I hang my head in disbelief that my mystery spouse is Ashley. The way we ended things in high school was rough, for my in particular. I promised myself to leave Ashley in the past and never look back. I look down at the ring on my finger and wonder what other promises I made. I twist the ring around the base of my finger, but can't bring myself to remove it.

"I should not have done those shots of Patron," I say aloud attempting to blame the alcohol for my current memory problems. The second the words leave my lips, a tidal wave of memories to fill the barren forgetful wasteland that is my hungover brain.


	2. 2 The Night Before, 11:13 pm

"Spencer, get us another round of shots!" Madison barks. "And make it Patron!"

If she wasn't marrying my brother in a week, I'd smack the bitch right of her face. I take a deep breath to curb my annoyance with the bridezilla. It's a move that only Chelsea sees and she gives me a compassionate smile.

I still think Madison marrying my brother is a terrible idea. She had her claws in him since our senior year of high school and hasn't let go in four years. The only reason Madison gives him the time of day is because she thinks he's going to be drafted into the NBA next year.

I make my way through the sea of people and decide to use the bathroom to check my makeup and waste a little time. If I'm only four hours into a weekend with Madison and I'm already looking for an escape, this can't be good.

We've only been at the club for less than an hour and while I'm pretty drunk already from our hotel pre-game activities, I'm not even remotely drunk enough to put up with Madison's unending demands. This is definitely going to be a blackout drunk Spencer night. My only goal is not to get arrested. As long as that happens, the weekend will be a success.

I decide to hit the stairs to avoid such a large throng of people. A bouncer stops me half way and I mumble something about a bachelorette party. He gives me a once over and lets me through after securing a bracelet on my wrist. Upon making it to the top of the stairs, I see that I've somehow made it into the VIP section. There are lounges and bottle service and far less people than downstairs. It takes me a minute of wandering to soak it in and decide I like it. I also like the fact that the lines to the bathrooms are non-existent. There's three bathroom doors and the one on the left is waiting for me.

As I'm about to make my way into the empty bathroom, a girl grabs my wrist and pulls me into the bathroom with her. She closes the door and locks it before I even realize what's going on. With the click of the bolt, the clear glass to etch white and the club outside to fade away. She moves so fast, I only saw brown curly locks flying at me in a blur.

"Excuse me," I stammer with a hint of irritation in my voice.

For the first time, I take a good look at the girl who is trying to commandeer my much needed moments of sanity in the bathroom. It's the eyes. The second I see that shade of brown I've memorized and thought about far too many times over the past four years, I stop breathing. A chill comes over me; starting in my spine and running through to my extremities.

"Ashley," I whisper like I'm afraid to say her name too loud. If I say it just silently enough, maybe it's not real and I can go back to the shitty bachelorette party and my overpriced Vodka tonic.

"Spence," she returns.

My heart feels like it's going to leap right out of my chest as my name rolls of her tongue so effortlessly. The tears of shock cling to the corner of my eyes, ready to fall at any second. I fight the urge and choke back the sob of regret that's about to give me away.

My sadness from dwelling on what could have been turns to anger swiftly. "Don't say a word, Ash. We both know we're better off…" I begin.

I don't have the heart to finish the sentence, because that heart was broken. Broken by the same girl I'm looking at right now. I just hope Ashley has the heart to let me go. She's the ghost. She's haunted me for too long.

"We're better off together," she pleads, picking up where I left off. "I think about you so much that no other thoughts can get any oxygen inside my brain. Letting you go was the biggest mistake I've ever made."

"And you think that showing up here and bombarding me in the bathroom is going to change that? You clearly haven't changed, Ash. Here you are just thinking about yourself again with no thought to what this is going to do to me," I say as firmly as I can.

My thoughts circle back to when we were younger, she would pull me close, draw me in, but leave me choking on my own I love you's that she could never return. Instead, I heard how she was broken and afraid to love. I still don't understand how her selfish mother and absent father had anything to do with us. I thought I could change her. After a while, it hurt too much to say anything. Eventually, it hurt too much for me to keep waiting.

Ashley interrupts my thoughts with her continued plea, "I know you don't owe me anything. I don't deserve anything. And I'm sorry. I don't want to ruin your night. When I got the invitation for the bachelorette, I wasn't going to come because I didn't want things to be awkward for us. I didn't want to hurt you by just being here. One second I was just staring at the invitation on my refrigerator and the next I was driving here…and here I am. If I could just see that you were happy…just tell me you're happy and that you don't think about us and I'll be gone."

"Ashley, please." There's a crack in my voice when I say her name. My heart is too weak to get the message to my mouth. And my eyes for that matter. A stray tear slides down my cheek and Ashley is there to wipe it away with her thumb. I let her. The harder I try not to think about how much I've missed her touch, the harder it is to think about anything else.

"I admit this is not how I imagined this, but I can't live with myself knowing that I've hurt you. Knowing that I never apologized for how things ended. I just want to tell you that I am so sorry. I want to make it up to you. I want to have the possibility of a future with you. Even if it's just a friendship. As long as you'll give me that chance," Ashley finishes with a waiver in her voice.

She's doesn't have the confident swagger I remember. There's desperation and sincerity in her words. Or maybe I'm just making excuses and can't trust myself when I'm around her. I close my eyes, pushing back the better judgment I have. The power this girl has over me is unreal. She rests her forehead against mine. She surrounds me, arms to the side of my head, noses touching, only a thought away from a kiss. But she doesn't kiss me.

Instead she declares, "I love you."

So simple, but so powerful are her words. I think about how in the past she withheld those words when I needed to hear them the most. How it took four years for her to say one sentence. How we fell apart because she could never say three simple syllables. But that was the past and this was the present, strung together by eight letters.

I stop thinking about letters and words and sentences long enough to fill my mind with the thought to kiss her. It's like a smoldering ember that's always been there and her declaration is the oxygen that easily ignites four years worth of emotion. Just like that, I'm convinced that any decision I make that doesn't involve kissing Ashley would be a mistake.

In a moment of weakness or bravery, my lips find hers. I'm hungry to feed off of her touch instead of her memory. It's better than my mind could have ever tried to remind me. My lips linger on hers for a moment more before I pull away.

"Say it again," I demand.

This time, I have to look at her when I hear the words. She only smiles a soft smile and I stare into her eyes which are also clouded with tears that have yet to fall.

"I'm still in love with you, Spencer. Four years ago and a million years from now. I always have been and I always will be. I'm sorry I never told you until now."

And the tears that were welling in Ashley's eyes, spill over her lids and down her cheeks. Something shifts inside of me. I don't want to think about the past or apologies. I can only think about the future. A future that ten minutes ago was unfathomable. A future that involves Ashley.

"I still love you too," I admit.

There's still an uncertainty hanging in the air, or maybe it's just the air freshener. Either way, I never miss out on an opportunity ask stupid questions.

"What do we do now?" I ask.

It's purely rhetorical. I'm not looking for an answer, but Ashley doesn't hesitate.

"We get married," she decides. As if it's the most logical next step. As if we are not currently having this conversation in three feet from a toilet. As if she means it.


	3. 3 1:47 am

1:47 am

"Did we really just do this?" I ask again.

Ashley just shakes her head as she laughs at me. "Yes! Yes! Yes! For the millionth time, we just got married, Spence."

She grabs my left hand with her left hand to show me what I already know is there. Our matching rings confirm that I, Spencer Carlin, told caution to fuck off and threw it into the wind like an old gum wrapper. Except, I Spencer Carlin, would not litter. Hopefully, you get the point of my very long, very poorly constructed simile. In my defense, I'm either deliriously in love or having the best seizure ever.

"How did this happen again?" I ask.

"You love me," Ashley starts.

"Well yes, that's obvious and we established that in the bathroom like twenty minutes ago," I acknowledge.

She plants a kiss on my lips for good measure. "And I still love you, even if you cannot tell time. That was like two hours ago."

"No way! It's only twelve!" I object pointing to the time on the cabs display which in my drunken haze, I think reads 12:15.

Ashley leans forward, squinting at the red numbers, before she starts laughing. "Um, Spence…that would be the meter telling us this cab rides going to cost us $17.15. As far as I'm aware, there is no 17 o'clock. Somebody's got a case of the beer goggles!"

I laugh at my own drunken blurred vision and try to tease her back, "You're probably a middle age man, fresh out of prison with a beer gut and a receding hair line. That explains why I turned you down three times."

Ashley intertwines her fingers with mine and heaves a sigh of defeat before continuing to elaborate on the details of our nuptials.

"I am not middle aged. I have never been in prison. I am most definitely not a man," Ashely says drawing my hand to her breast. Yep, definitely not a man. "But seriously, Spence, I do NOT have a beer gut or a receding hairline. And I resent that implication!"

Of all the things in that description, leave it to Ashley to be offended by the beer gut and receding hairline comment. To appease my new bride, I admit, "I know. You are smoking hot. That's why I agreed to marry you the fourth time you asked."

"You did the right thing by telling me no the first three times. You know, so we can say that we didn't rush into this."

After the first bathroom proposal, my to reply to her was, "Just because we're in Vegas, it doesn't mean that we have to get married."

To that, Ashley only returns my rejection with a knowing grin and replies, "Fair enough. But I'm going to marry you someday, Spencer Carlin."

I'm drawn back to the present, where Ashley is still waiting for me to confirm that this is more than just a rushed decision.

"A lady never says yes to the first proposal," I inform her in a southern accent that came from thin air like (1.) I'm Scarlett O'Hara and (2.) It's common knowledge or anything close to resembling knowledge.

"And you are a lady, kind of," Ashley jokes with an eye roll.

"Hey!" I retort with mock offense.

Ashley brushes a strand of hair from my face and I lean into her touch. It's strange how these very un-magical places like taxi cabs turn into something special just because I'm with her.

"But lady or not, I knew I had to be persistent. And that I was not going to get you to agree to marry me in the women's bathroom, or on the dance floor, or on a gondola ride down a fake canal. So, I decided to play the odds. I told you to put your money where your mouth was, and if you rolled an eight in craps, we'd get married," Ashley says.

"Actually, you sang for me to put my money where my mouth was. And I told you to stop quoting Katy Perry," I add. "But honestly, I was just thankful you didn't bust out singing I Kissed a Girl. So I agreed because of that and the fact that eight is my lucky number. Still, I can't believe I rolled a hard eight."

"I promise to never quote another Katy Perry song to you," she jokes.

I look out the window at the neon signs lining the strip. My interest in the flashing lights and people walking on the crowded sidewalk is forced; I'm really still trying to process that this is my wedding night. The chapel was small and everything I'd expected from a typical Vegas wedding minus Elvis. There was nothing remarkable about the ceremony except for the obvious fact that I was marrying the love of my life on nothing more than a whim and toss of the dice. I've never given too much thought to how my wedding would look until about an hour ago. Although this wasn't how I would have ever imagined my nuptials, the fact that just committed to spending the rest of my life with Ashley fills me with a sense of peace. It's like for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I heave a sigh of contentment at the incredible turn of events tonight.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

I turn my attention from the window and face Ashley. I can see the worry on my love's face and know what she's going to say before she says it.

"You're not going to change your mind, are you?"

"No. Not at all," I reassure Ashley. "It's just that we're married and we haven't done anything really weddingish."

"Weddingish? Like a cake?" Ashley suggests with a mix of relief and hope.

Leave it to Ashley and her insatiable sweet tooth bring it back to food. It's not exactly what I had in mind, but I do like her thought process.

"What about ice cream instead?" I ask.

"You want ice cream instead of a wedding cake? That's just wrong! Every wedding has to have a cake!" Ashley protests.

I look around the taxi cab. The duct tape on the leather seats, faint smell of B.O. and NPR on the radio does nothing to make me believe that our wedding is remotely close to any other couple's wedding, cake or no cake.

"There is nothing traditional about our wedding. Why should the cake be any different?"

"Ice cream it is. But I'm still getting a cupcake, too. Good thing there's a Sugar Factory in front of my hotel," Ashley informs me. "Hopefully it's still open."

We exit the cab and are pleased to find the Sugar Factory is still open. It's definitely our lucky night. We spend the next few minutes walking around the Sugar Factory trying to decide what flavor of ice cream and cupcake we want. The cupcake is tucked safely into my purse until we reach the room. We start on our ice cream as we stroll through the lobby.

Nervous about the honeymoon-esque activities about to ensue, I try to focus on the activities of the casino. It's not working very well but I only need to keep myself in check for another two minutes. By the time the door elevator door shuts, I'm thankful not another soul is in the elevator with us. Ashley is leaning on the side panel, licking every last morsel of ice cream from her little plastic spoon, completely oblivious to the dirty thoughts that are running through my mind. Nineteen floors seems like such a long ride. It's a risky move, but I grab the cup of ice cream from her hand and decide it's my turn to occupy her mouth.

I lean into her, craving the lips that I can now call mine for life. She is sweet, peanut butter ice cream, love and promises. Promises I know she will keep. It's crazy and insane and makes about as much sense as putting a dog in a sweater, but it works. I can't explain it, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Her tongue meets mine, playfully and I wish I'm not double-fisting ice cream so I can use my hands to explore her body for the next 16…15…14...floors. Instead, she takes advantage of her two free hands, drawing me near and against her body. My breath hitches as I anticipate her next move. Her hands rest on my hips, fingertips grazing my waist.

The remaining floors are scaled without interruption. The doors to the elevator open, bringing our ride and our make out session to a stop. The walk down the long hallway to her room is torture, with Ashley using my full hands to her advantage. She's behind me, drawing me back to kiss my neck. Ashley announces a simple, "here," and we stop at her door.

Ashley quickly pulls the room key from her pink bra and opens the door. We both fall into the room in a lust induced stupor. The plastic room key skids across the carpet. I throw my purse and the ice creams on the dresser. Immediately, my body is against the wall, with Ashley lifting my arms over my head so she can expertly get my dress off. She tosses it onto the bed and before she can get back to undressing me, I cup the face of my wife.

"I love you," I murmur before our lips met again.

"I love you too," Ashley returns.

My hands fall from her face to the top button on her black lace vest. Button by button, I free her from her top. I slide my fingers under her bra strap, moving it aside so I can spread my kisses across her shoulders and chest. As I run my tongue along the base of her neck, she moans and I playfully start to nibble. I'm well aware of the effect this will have, but can't resist.

Her moans turn to a fit of giggles and she protests, "Hey, not fair. You know I'm ticklish there!"

She halfheartedly pushes me away and I try to give her the puppy dog eyes and reply "What?" as innocently as I can muster.

"You're gonna pay for that," Ashley taunts.

She reaches into my purse and pulls the package containing our wedding cupcake out. One look at the devilish sparkle in her eyes tells me that I will not be forgiven for my moment of indiscretion.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," I object.

I stretch my hands in front of me like they are going to be able to ward her off. There's nowhere for me to go and she's already freed the cupcake from it's packaging.

"Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, dear," she says with a smirk.

She carefully inspects the cupcake in her hand and comments, "I hope you like vanilla."

Before I can respond, Ashley is leaping towards me ready to unleash a vendetta covered in white frosting. She just grazes my arm as I dart to the side of her. I let out a squeal as the coolness of the frosting comes into contact with my arm. I jump onto the bed and realize how ridiculous I must look standing half naked on a bed afraid of a little cupcake.

"Why are you so paranoid, Spence? I'm just trying to share a cupcake with you," Ashley says feigning to be hurt by my "overreaction".

She peels away the liner and takes a bite, closing her eyes in pleasure. "This is sooo good. Are you sure you don't want to try some? I will behave. I promise," Ashley says with her mouth half-full. In a gesture of peace, sets the cupcake on the liner on the corner of the bed.

I decide to sit down on the edge of the bed and dip my index finger into the massive amount of frosting on the cupcake. I lick the frosting from my finger and then gather some more. I motion for Ashley to come here. She obliges and I offer her the chance to lick my frosting covered finger.

Hesitantly, she kneels at the foot of the bed and rests her hands on my thighs.

"Be gentle," she requests and opens her mouth.

I slowly reach my hand closer to her mouth, but at the last second, I dab the frosting on her nose. She was prepared for such sneaky behavior. A second later she's got me on my back, straddling me like some kind of sexual ninja.

I try to sit up, but she just gently pushes me back down on the bed with a simple touch to my shoulder. I look up at her and give a half smile at the glop of white frosting on the bridge of her nose. I'm clearly defeated, and too turned on to continue our playful fight. My body relaxes, letting her have her way with me. First, she leans in to nuzzle her nose against mine, transferring the majority of the frosting with the contact. Ashley scoops off half of the remaining frosting with her finger and places it on my chest.

My body becomes her finger-painting canvas. No need for brushes and acrylics. Frosting and I are about to become her artwork tonight. She swirls little patterns around my arms, neck and stomach and stops to take a look at her masterpiece in progress. She shakes her head in disapproval.

"No," she critiques. "It's all wrong."

She leans down and I feel her breath hot and seductive grazing my skin. She begins to lick off the frosting from my stomach, coming upwards to my breasts. She removes my bra and takes my exposed breasts into her hands. My nipples harden under her touch. I crave her touch with every fiber of my body. My core is already throbbing, so ready to be touched by her. Instead, she takes her time, kissing my mouth as she slowly rocks against me.

I bite my lip to keep my moans inside. Her tongue finishes erasing her artwork on my arms. She leans forward, skillfully grinding her body against my core. The teasing is too much for me to bear. I want her as much as I need her. As if we are sharing that thought, Ashley removes her skirt and panties, throwing them into a ball in the corner.

My eyes widen to take in her naked form in front of me and she quickly makes me desire her even more. Her nimble fingers trace my legs, stopping at the top of my lace underwear, where she is able to free me from the only thing keeping us apart. Her legs are now on either side of my hips and she straddling me again. Once she settles herself against me, a fire that shoots through my body. I feel her wetness as she begins to grind against me, instantly making me feverish with pleasure.

I'm coming too close to orgasm too soon. Ashley must realize this and she becomes more tentative with her movements. She slowly lifts herself from me and I ache to feel her body move with mine. She wipes that thought from my mind when she slides her fingers into me. I gasp at how good she feels inside of me. I'm clutching sheets, biting my lip, doing anything to make my mind focus on something else besides how close she's bringing me.

"Ashley," I moan.

My feeble attempt to focus on anything else is in vein. With every thrust of her fingers, I get closer to the edge. My whole body eagerly anticipates her next act of pleasure and is not disappointed by her masterful touch as she drives me past the point of no return.

"Don't stop," I beg.

Before the words leave my mouth, I'm coming against her hand. The waves of pleasure rip through me and Ashley lets me ride out my orgasm until every bit of tension leaves my body and I collapse onto the bed below me.

After I catch my breath, I praise, "That was amazing."

Ashley, pleased with the results of her handiwork, settles onto the bed next to me. She leans in, kissing me softly and reiterates, "I love you."

"I love you," I return.

"I still can't believe this is happening," Ashley muses.

I agree, but I remain silent. I'm too busy thinking about how I'm about to make her believe how real it is. The night continues with enough teasing and kissing and cuddling and lovemaking to bring Ashley to sleep. The only thing keeping me up is the sticky mix of sugar and sweat on my body and the realization that this isn't some dream.

After a restless hour of listening to Ashley talk in her sleep, I swipe my scattered clothing from the floor and hop in the shower to rinse off. The hot water slowly eases my racing mind and the emotional exhaustion of today sets in. With tired eyes, I dry off and crawl back into bed with Ashley. She stirs as I lay next to her and wraps an arm around me.

"Is everything ok?" she murmurs, half asleep.

The answer hits me immediately, but I'm slow to savor the response, "Everything is perfect."


End file.
